Game Over
by obese chipmunk
Summary: Pokémon fans in a zombie apocalypse. How can a Gameboy Color be the voice of reason when humanity crumbles?


Game Over

I first saw the Fence Fliers at dawn, running down the train tracks, away from the mob, losing their silhouettes to the rising sun. They found a breach in the barbed wire and climbed out of the trespass zone. Three of them gave the sunglassed black dude a boost but he didn't need it. They hopped over like it was nothing and the moaning, howling, gurgling horde went clink clink clink against the chain link. That was when I knew who to stick with. But they're also the reason why I'm about to risk my life for some selfish wussy kid. Well, I guess anyone with a heart would do what I'm about to do. Read on and see for yourself.

I ran with the Fence Fliers down a deserted road. If Seal Team Six had a division for the young and ghetto, we'd be their top soldiers. We ran in a line, pounding the pavement with each stride. Enrico was up front, hoodied up with a knife in one hand. The black dude was in the middle, wielding a golf club and sporting those shades. His sunglasses were reflecting the rising sun. You'd see a pair of red-bellied cumuli if you tried looking at his eyes. Then there was Pablo, clutching a hockey stick, a sideways fitted over his head; and Escobar, with oversized sneakers scuffed to hell and a Louisville Slugger bloody from sluggin'. Then there was me. Jean jacketed with a backwards cap, running empty handed. Guess they didn't trust me with a weapon back then.

They took me to a boarded-up convenience store where a few folks were laying low. Each one of them greeted me in turn, except Vlad. This black-haired, black-eyed white guy was sitting in a corner, thumbing a blocky, lime-green handheld. A Gameboy Color. And when I saw the yellow cartridge in the back slot I realized I was in paradise. Pokémon Yellow. The greatest Japanese RPG experience to date, the O.G. one hundred and fifty one pocket monsters in clunky, 8-bit retro glory. Only a man of passion would play that. Only a man who would – triumphantly, with a heroic smile and shaking head – say "no thank you, I don't play those dinky smart phone games." You can imagine my anticipation when I said hello.

"Hey." he said, without looking up from the screen.

"Pokémon Yellow, eh?"

"Yep."

"Classic game."

"Yep."

"How long you been here?"

"A while."

"Can I play?"

"No."

Bastard. I don't care that there's only one save slot. My Gameboy was stolen from me years ago by a punk in middle school who went from pipsqueak to Big Pimpin' in one year of hyper adolescent growth. Now a new Gameboy Color has entered my life. It must be destiny. I was going to find a way to make that thing my own.

But what's the deal with Vlad? I asked George Banks, the safe house's go-to, do-the-right-thing guy.

"Doesn't say much," he said. "Found him in the store all by himself. He was the first one here." George Banks has caramel skin and a pretty little afro. He has white teeth like black guys in toothbrush commercials, but he's not quite perfect for the role thanks to his lighter skin.

"Was he on his Gameboy back then?"

"I don't remember."

Right then there was a thud against our only unboarded window. One of them was there, bashing its head against the glass.

"Shit! They found us!" said a woman with caramel skin like George Banks.

Thud, thud, thud, then smash! Glass shards all over the cash register. And a nasty hand reaching in and grabbing.

Yes, this is a zombie apocalypse story. Don't roll your eyes – it's really happening. It was bound to happen. We're obsessed with it. It never gets old. And let's face it: it was way more likely than an invasion of tundra-white vampires emo enough to steal swarms of swooning schoolgirls from '90s boy bands. So you can forget about all that quit-playing-games-with-my-heart malarkey. These are zombies. The only time they play games with your heart is when they tear it out of your chest and make you look at it for the beating, lopsided monstrosity that it is, when they stretch out the arteries and throw it back through your ribcage sideways, over and over until you're living dead like them.

The caramel girl whipped out her pistol and shot the thing in the face. She ran up to the broken window and looked outside, squinted, let the morning sun light up the bags under her eyes. The Fence Fliers moved to the back of the store, next to the fridge full of Pak Springs mango juice. They made a defensive circle around the sunglassed black dude on their team and stood there with their sports weapons.

"Relax everyone," said caramel girl. "It's just a wanderer. There's nothing else out there." The Fence Fliers breathed a sigh of relief and patted the black guy on the back.

"We got you covered, Ray," they said. "Ain't nothin' gonna touch you."

Ray laughed and shook his head. "I don't need this guys, I don't need this."

"Woah woah woah, did I miss something?" said someone walking out of the family planning aisle. He looked like he was white mixed with something but I couldn't tell what.

"Damn right you missed something," said caramel girl.

"Aw relax, I was just reading with my girl."

"Wake up, Chet." caramel girl was pissed.

"I was just mesmerized by her book skills," said Chet

A Filipino chick came out of the aisle, holding a book to her chest.

"You were mesmerized by my body, Chet," she said.

"Hey, easy there baby, I just think you're – "

"Shut up," said Caramel girl. "Wake up and smell the corpses, Chet." Chet shut up and caramel girl turned to Vlad:

"You were in charge of boarding up the windows. What you doin'? You're gonna get us killed." She holstered the gun, walked across the glass shards, crunch crunch crunch, over to our black-eyed and black-haired white boy antagonist. "KILLED man. Do you understand the finality of death? You can't just hit restart on your Gameboy." Vlad was standing around, head down, hands in his pockets. He looked more out of place than Charizard at a water Pokémon convention.

"Relax G," said George. "He's just a kid. Let's board it up right now." Turns out caramel girl is George Banks' brother – Georgina Banks.

And she's my kind of woman. I dig on strong female characters. I've never seen one in real life until now, but I dig on them. Only problem is that she's middle-aged and I'm still youthful. But if the Gameboy Color is a sign from heaven, a gift from the big man upstairs who looks upon his creation and checks if they do the right thing, a gift that makes this zombie apocalypse a blessing in disguise, then maybe, just maybe, Georgina Banks is a cougar.

"Hey man. I have a proposition for you." It was Vlad. He woke me up the next morning.

"What? Good Morning."

"I'm willing to give you the Gameboy Color. And Pokémon Yellow."

I felt love and divine light in my heart. Dear God, if you're up there, I will be friends with my pocket monsters. I won't just treat them like animals.

"On one condition." Oh that bastard. I see him grinning. "Get me a Gameboy Advance. And Pokémon Emerald."

"Where the hell am I supposed to get that?"

"Three blocks down the road on the left hand side there is a vintage games shop. They have two Gameboy Advances. Get me the Glacier model.

"You serious?"

"Yes."

"Why don't you just go?"

"You think I'm crazy?"

Yes. This guy is a crazy selfish son of a bitch.

I spent that day rap battling with the Fence Fliers. They beat me each time. They would boo me out of the slushee corner but call me right back, saying "come back, we're just playin'." When we decided that's enough hot fire spitting for one day, Ray approached me.

"Hey man, I heard about Vlad's proposition."

"What? Did he tell you about it?"

"Listen, we'd go out there with you, but my boys want to keep me safe like I'm a god dang baby Jesus."

"Yeah, what's with that?" The other day I saw Enrico trip over a basmati rice bag in a dash to save Ray from slicing himself while watermelon cutting. Yes, Ray actually likes watermelons. And yes, this convenience store has watermelons.

"This is what some might call a 'survival horror situation,'" said Ray. They don't want me to be the first-to-die black guy."

"They're so fervent about it," I said.

"I know. They took a vow and everything."

"Damn."

He looked over his shoulder. The Fence Fliers were distracted, arguing about whether or not the Pina Colada slushee was a womanly drink.

"Anyways, whatever you do, I hope it's the right thing."

"Pablo likes the taste," said Escobar from the slushee counter, "must mean he's gay."

Ray smiled and nodded at me and turned back to his boys: "Nah, nah, nah, Negroes," he said. "It's non-alcoholic, so it don't matter."

"George Banks. What do you think?" It was stupid of me to ask George Banks' opinion.

"Don't be a fool. You're so caught up in that game you think your life is a game."

What else would our survival group's go to idealist guy say?

"George Banks, I'm fast man. Faster than the Fence Fliers. And we all know those things are slow." He was shaking his head. "What's the big deal? I dash down three blocks, stay outta the light, bust into the store, grab the goods, and high tail it back here."

"Are you out of your mind? Have you seriously lost it? Do you really think it's worth risking your life?"

"Why're you lashing out at me? Vlad's the selfish one. Vlad's the challenge maker."

"Forget about Vlad, kid."

"But-"

"Don't think about him. Erase him out of your mind. Pretend he doesn't exist."

Is that what it takes to do the right thing?

Georgina Banks glared at me so sexily.

"You dumbass. Why would you even consider that?"

"I'm a hopeful man. Like your brother."

"You're an idiot."

"You must care about me. I appreciate that." She glared at me harder. I wanted to run my fingers through that brown, curly hair. "Don't worry, I'm too stealth. I'll be back before you know it, baby."

"I don't give a damn about you. You'll jeopardize the safe house if you go outside. They'll follow you and find us."

"Come with me. We'll be a team."

"You're a scoundrel."

Turns out that Chet is a Cherokee and the Filipino chick's name is Julie. I heard them chitchatting before I introduced myself.

"Of course I don't just like you for your booty, baby girl."

"Then why'd you say that?"

"I just think clothing inhibits your beauty."

"You're objectifying me."

"Yo! New guy," he said to me. "Heard about your dilemma."

"Chet," said the girl. "We need to talk about this."

"Listen man," said Chet. "You've gotta always be on the lookout for that damsel in distress." He had shoulder length hair and a devious grin on his face. "And this time, right here, right now, it's Pokémon Yellow." Julie was glaring at him and had her arms across her chest. "We can't let poor Pikachu suffer in the hands of that emo punk."

"You're feminizing the captive."

"I'm not, baby Julie."

"Yes you are."

"Thanks man," I said, shaking his hand.

"You're perpetuating the hegemony of gender norms."

"Baby girl, did I ever tell you how pretty you look in those tights?"

She shook her head. She smiled, just a hint.

The next time they came there was more than one.

"Help me jam the door! Jam the door!" said George Banks. They were smashing at wood and glass, howling. I helped George at the door while everyone else assembled. I looked at Vlad, scared shitless by the boarded up windows, standing with his hands in his pockets, rays of light from our patch up job all around him, dust flecks drifting.

"Don't just stand there," said Georgina. "Grab a weapon. Get ready."

The Fence Fliers armed themselves and made a circle around Ray. Chet held a two by four and Julie clutched a monkey wrench. Georgina stood on the counter of the cash register, gun drawn.

George Banks looked at me. We were both pressed up against the door, straining under their weight. I could smell those scum bags from the other side, a swarm of gangrene, a rotting pit from hell that must epitomize the worst we're capable of.

"Ready kid?"

"Yeah."

"Okay everybody. HERE THEY COOOOME."

We let go of the doors and watched them pour in. Georgina let off and the first three dropped. Seven others lumbered through and the Fence Fliers charged, like Moorish knights of honor defending Al-Andalus, ghetto style. I could practically here a soundtrack in the background: Fence Flier, spit fire, hop higher. Fence Flier, spit fire, hop higher.

I'm not going to describe to you what they look like. I know, you know, we've all seen it. Ugly and evil bastards that beg to be challenged with relentless, unproblematic violence. All you need to know is that George Banks and I came up behind the horde and boxed them in. Then we smashed the filth 'till they were pulpier than the pulps they already were. A bleeding heap on the floor. Only then did we think about how they were once like us.

"Yeehaaaaw!" said Chet

So much slaughter. We fought with hate in our hearts. I'm sure there's valor too. Most of us have purpose. The Fence Fliers sure do. But I felt hatred when I lowered each boom, an anger that pulsed in me each time I bashed their nasty heads. Maybe they fight because they love us. They want us to be like them. They desire a community so vast and awe-inspiring they're willing to resort to unending, don't-back-down-'till-your-dead violence. Of course, that's not what I thought when I saw one burst through the window boards and bite Vlad in the trapezius.

Georgina shot it in the face.

"Oh damn," said George. "Damn, damn damn."

We've all seen this before. He's got time. Two days until the wound festers and rids him of his humanity.

"You know what we gotta do," said Georgina.

"We don't have to," said George.

"It'll be easier if we get it over with now."

"G. We don't have to."

"He'll kill us. We'll be sleeping and he'll kill us in our sleep."

"Don't jump to conclusions. We'll get him a doctor." George Banks was getting passionate.

"Doctor? Are you kidding me? The world ended like 5 days ago. You think they already got a serum?"

Vlad was sitting with his head down. I saw tears dripping off his face.

"Fuck both you guys," I said. Let him live 'till his time is done. We'll watch him. And when he goes all corpsey on us, we'll finish him off."

They both looked at me. Everyone looked at me.

"Okay kid," said Georgina, "but you're the one who's pulling the trigger."

"Whatever," I said.

George Banks shook his head and walked away.

"Yo! New guy." Chet caught up to me as I gathered some things for the journey outside. "You're a real righteous dude. You could have just waited until he died."

"This seems like the right thing to do."

"Chet!" It was Julie from an aisle over. "Chet! Hurry up I found my poetry anthology. Let's read it together."

"University chicks," he said, shaking his head. "She's great though."

"Chet, I got a question for you."

"Whaddup?"

"Why'd you say 'yeehaw' back when we were under attack. Isn't that a white guy-cowboy thing?"

"You tell me man," he said, still smiling. "Who were the bad guys in Cowboys vs. Indians?"

"True."

"What's your background, man?"

" Let's just say your buddy Chris Columbus would've been happy to find me."

"Haha, okay wise guy. Watch yourself out there. I'd come with you but I've got a girl to protect."

"No worries."

I put on my backpack, holstered a knife, and gripped Escobar's Louisville Slugger. Looks like the Fence Fliers trust me with their weapons now. The whole safe house saw me off. I'd probably be back in an hour. No, less than that, half an hour. The vintage game store is just three blocks down, on the left hand side. But we all know how dangerous it is out there. I looked at Vlad one last time. He was seeing me off too.

"Take care of Pikachu for me," I said, shaking his hand. "Until I'm back."


End file.
